


Cold Calculus

by Kittenly



Series: Halfway to Heaven and Just a Mile Out 'A Hell [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Aborted confession of love, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Minor John Hancock, Slight AU (timeline of events is a little different; the events themselves are mostly the same), Sole is a Railroad/Minuteman spy inside the Brotherhood of Steel, snapshot from slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenly/pseuds/Kittenly
Summary: Fuck the mission. Somethings you can't just stand by and watch. Even if it means blowing your cover.





	

“Paladin Sofia, I finally found you,” the scribe said. She was out of breath. Must have been running all over the Prydwen to find me.

“I’m here,” I said. “What’s going on?” Already hairs prickled on the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right. Nothing urgent should be happening. None of the factions were making moves on each other for at least a few weeks.

I would know--I was ranking officer in all of them.

The scribe, Andrea was her name I think, motioned me after her and we hurried across the deck. Probably towards command. That made my heart skip a beat. What the hell did Maxson want with me? I tried to wrack my brain, think of anything extraordinary that had might have drawn his attention.

Without any other ready explanation, I had to consider the possibility that my position here had been compromised. The Battle of Bunker Hill had been a chaotic shitshow, and the Railroad had almost lost four synths and an entire chapter of operatives. There was a non-zero probability that someone from the Brotherhood had both seen me killing their guys and had lived to report back.

The wind was roaring as we stepped onto the flight deck. The back of Maxson’s signature bomber jacket greeted us and I took a breath, letting my face relax into an easy, half-grin that could mask near any emotion. That was an advantage to being a smartass by nature--people never questioned a look of slight smugness on your face.

“Paladin,” Maxson said, turning around.

“Maxson.”

He frowned slightly at the lack of title. Seriously, the man should be used to my shit by now. I don’t know why he was surprised _this_ time. In the end, he must have decided to ignore it, because he got straight down to business.

“I have need of your particular skills, Paladin.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I said. “I have many.”

Maxson sighed. Part of me considered letting up on the wiseass-ery. But no, consistency was the key to cover. Act inconsistent, people get suspicious real quick.

“We’ve apprehended a synth.”

That immediately got my attention. The Brotherhood didn’t apprehend synths; they annihilated them.

“What’s so special about this one that you didn’t kill it on sight?”

Maxson nodded, as if reassured by my response. A small part of me narrowed in irritation. He’d need to shove a lot harder than that if he was pushing me to break character.

“We believe it’s being used by the Railroad,” he said. “And if it has information, we can extract it.”

“And how do you plan to do that? I imagine it’s pretty hard to interrogate a machine.”

“You’re still thinking of it as a person,” he chastised. He stroked his beard, looking every bit the evil megalomaniac. Which he was, so I guess it was fitting. “But the advantage to capturing a machine is we can extract the data from it directly.”

Huh, that was sure a thought. My first gut impression said such a thing wasn’t possible. But if Doc Amari could transplant memories, then skepticism was a liability I couldn’t afford.

“Quinlan on it?” I asked.

“ _Proctor_ Quinlan,” he put a heavy emphasis on the title. My mouth twitched, the small smile growing a fraction. It was so satisfying to irritate Maxson. And he made it so damn easy.

He is examining the subject. The memory extraction procedure should come together shortly, but in the meantime you will be assigned to assist the Proctor.”

“Why’s that?” That shouldn’t be too big a problem, most of the synths that went through the Railroad didn’t know anything about me but my code name. And if they’d managed to catch anyone from higher up in the food chain, they’d die before they blew my cover.

Which was what I was afraid of. If they had somehow taken Glory or one of our other heavies, the Railroad was in serious trouble.

“The machine is being difficult,” Maxson said. “It’s contained, but we’re finding sedation impossible. Proctor Quinlan doesn’t want to do anything that might compromise the memories.”

“So I give Quinlan some physical backup,” I said. “Give the synth something to punch while the procedure happens.” That would be dicey. It opened up some potential opportunities for me to get my ally out, but nothing concrete. I’d have to improvise.

That’s something you never want to do as a spy. You lose your upper hand on information and planning and suddenly your cover’s blown and you’re belly up in the harbor. I’d just have to wait and see if the risk would be worth it. I had a valuable position here, in the heart and home of the enemy. 

“If that’s all, I’ll go down to see him” I said, turning away from Maxson and the open air.

“Yes,” said Maxson. “You’re dismissed. Hopefully that intelligence will help us stamp out these Railroad vermin once and for all.”

A scribe led me down into the belly of the Prydwen. I focused on my breathing, counting to seven each way. Any other outlet of stress risked being too obvious, not matter how much I wanted to dash down there and see how bad the situation was.

Quinlan opened the door for me when we arrived. A glass holding cell of some sort had been set up in the middle of the deck, and the prisoner waited inside. My heart lurched to a stop.

“Don’t be deceived by its appearance,” Quinlan said. “It’s proven to be quite formidable.”

“You think just ‘cause a man don’t look pretty, he can’t kick your ass?” Nick Valentine shot back.

“Mm. Quite,” the proctor said with indifference. Was I shaking? God I hoped I wasn’t shaking. “Thankfully we have staff that are more than capable of restraining you.” He turned to me. “My thanks for your expeditious arrival, Paladin. The machine is rather tiresome.”

Valentine glanced at me. His eyelids widened just a fraction and one of his fans kicked on. Nothing no one would notice but me. It was over in a second, as he furrowed his brow and pretended not to recognize me.

I wasn’t prepared for the panic that rose up in me with him looking like he didn’t know me. It hurt me somewhere deep, even though I knew it was just an act.

Time slowed and nearly halted, It was like ODing on Jet, your mind moving the speed of light and so everything else just.

Stops.

It hit me then, at the worst possible time. I loved Valentine. He was my best friend, my partner. He made me better and maybe I was arrogant enough to think I did the same for him.

But I didn’t infiltrate enemy organizations this deep by being sentimental. My position in the Brotherhood could save so many synth and Railroad lives. Valentine was just one synth. The math was easy.

If I did nothing, they would kill him. They would hurt him. And I realized, I’d made my choice the second I’d seen him, trapped in that safety glass cage. My hand was already on my belt, pin of a grenade pinched between my fingers.

He was just one synth, but he also wasn’t. He was a man, and his life mattered. I decided I was okay with being bad at math.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s a bad idea,” Valentine said. Double speak. He must’ve seen my decision on my face.

But the pin was out and I was already lobbing the grenade into the air.

“Valentine, get down!” I bellowed. He hit the floor, but everyone else was caught unprepared as it exploded. Including me.

The concussion punched me in the chest and threw me to the ground, where I landed on my shoulder with a sickening crunch. My vision was swarming with yellow-white spots and I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or not. A deafening ring pounded through my head, and I would have curled up to try bear it but I couldn’t feel anything other than my head.

But I'd seen Valentine had hit the floor, and his synth makeup was more resilient than our fragile flesh and organs. He’d get out. And that’s all that mattered to me.

I was floating in an atmosphere of dull pain when I felt a deep pinch on my arm. Heat spread from the source of the pinch, and I slowly came back down.

“Don’t you dare kick the bucket on me, Darling. I’m officially declaring you the worst partner ever if you die on me. We have to get out of this so I can kill you myself for being so damn stupid.”

I caught the thread of his rambles and couldn’t help let out a cough of a laugh.

“Just like you to guilt me into staying alive,” I rasped. “And don’t kid yourself. I’m the best damn partner you’ll ever have.”

Relief flooded his face the moment I spoke. I tried to take inventory, and see where I was hurt, but I couldn’t focus. The effort made the world spin off its axis and I felt myself sway wildly as he helped me sit up.

“Easy,” Valentine said, steadying me against him. “You lost a lot of blood.”

I looked around. The floor was covered in blood and a few bodies.

“Looks like someone set off a grenade in here,” I said dazedly.

“You’re hilarious, as always,” Valentine grumbled. It took me a while to figure out what he meant, but when I remembered that there _had_ been a grenade and _I’d_ set it off I couldn’t help but giggle.

It was a heavy, wet noise, and a small bubble of blood burst at the corner of my mouth. Gross. I tried to wipe it away but I think I just smeared it down my chin.

Sitting up was becoming way too difficult, and I felt like if I could just lay down for a bit, then maybe the world would settle down. Valentine wouldn’t let me though. He kept me sitting and fiddling with something under my coat. I thought about trying to figure out what he was doing, but every time the thought floated across my mind, I lost it a second later to a glint of light on the wall or a noise. Valentine was swearing, but I couldn’t follow most of what he was saying.

“Shock, Darling. You’re going into shock.” He snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. I jumped. His hand gripped my wrists, fingers prodding and searching. He must have not been able to feel it ‘cause he leaned in close and pressed his fingers into my neck. It was strangely intimate, him so close, feeling around for a pulse. His bright light eyes betraying far more emotion than bulbs should be able to show.

When he found finally found my pulse, he wasn’t pleased. He prepared another stimpack and jabbed it into my arm. Warmth bloomed through me again and I felt my mind clear a little more. I finally looked down. My coat was pulled open, my shirt under shredded by shrapnel. What looked like the entirety of my med kit was taped, tied, and wrapped around me, already soaking through with blood. Even with my mind coated in cotton, I knew that if we didn’t get out soon I was a goner. And the Brotherhood wasn’t likely to miss a large explosion on their own ship.

“People’ll be coming soon,” I slurred. “Plan?”

“I’m overloading just trying to think of one,” Valentine said. “We’re up in the air, and our allies are pretty thin as it is. We’re in as much of a corner as I’ve ever been.”

“‘Kay,” I said, pulling myself up. Valentine helped, slinging my arm over his shoulder so he could support me.

“Finally, some good comes from you being so short,” I said. My whole one inch on him made this arrangement a little easier.

“Ha, ha. I could just drop you here you know.”

“You’d never do that, Valentine,” I said, trying to grin at him. It was probably more horrifying than reassuring with blood smeared down from my mouth. “What would you do without me?”

He glanced at me and gave a small, sad smile. “I don’t intend to find out.”

I tried to give him an extra squeeze, but I’m not sure I had the strength. Hopefully he got the message.

As we stumbled towards the stairs, Valentine half dragging me, I said, “Alright. I got a plan. But you ain’t gonna like it.”

“Lay it on me anyway,” he said.

“It’s not really a Valentine and Darling plan,” I hedged. He looked at me, eyebrows raised. “More of a...Hancock and Darling plan.”

He groaned. “Just tell me. Let’s get it over with.”

“We’re gonna steal a Vertibird.”

There was silence. I glanced at Valentine, but he was looking straight ahead, ignoring me even as he hauled me up the metal grate stairs.

“I think my auditory processors are on the fritz,” he said. “‘Cause I could have sworn you just suggested stealing a Vertibird.”

“You got anything better?” I asked. We were up the stairs. There was a pounding of feet as Brotherhood descended on us. Valentine dropped me, and brandished my favorite combat rifle at the oncoming troops.

 _Crack. Crack. Crack._ The sound of the rifle was comforting even in someone else’s hands. I pulled myself over to my bag and tried to get something to help him. My hands found the solid weight of _Prosecutor_ , my sniper rifle. Some people would call it my signature weapon. I tried to pull it into my arms, but the rifle was too heavy and even after the stimpaks, I wasn’t doing so good. Valentine was holding his own, but he wasn’t used to the kick my rifle packed and he was tiring quickly.

With the squeal of hydraulics, a fully power-armored Knight burst into the door. Valentine's heel nudged me as he backed up. I shoved _Prosecutor_ back into the bag, desperately searching for something I, even noodle-armed as I was, could aim.

I drew out a pipe pistol, the most basic Wasteland firearm you could get. Even that was a struggle to hold out and aim.

 _Click. Click._ Shit, Valentine was out of ammo. The Knight charged, her armor-clad fist raised to pummel Valentine into a pile of scrap. I had one shot to get us out of this--time to hope all that target practice with MacCready had actually paid off.

Slumped on the metal grate of the Prydwyn, I raised the pistol with both hands, took aim as best I could with my head swimming, and squeezed the trigger.

After the loud cracks of the rifle and the deep groaning of power armor, my little pipe pistol sounded almost quiet in comparison, just a quiet, _tap, taptaptap, tap_. I don’t know if it was skill or luck, but my aim was true. The first shot hit the metal cage around the knight's head, sending up a shower of sparks. The next ones caught her across the face, sending her reeling.

It gave Valentine just enough time to reload and empty a new clip into her. With the Knight down, Valentine dragged me to my feet and pulled me after him.

We stumbled across the flight deck, bullets and laser fire smashing all around us. I felt a few solid blows hit me, but the heavy ballistic weave in my coat shook off most of the injury. And Valentine was there, holding me up.

By the time we made it to the Vertibird, my breath was coming in ragged gasps and my vision and clotted over with black patches.

“Get in,” Valentine said. “I’ll cover you.” He whipped the rifle off his back and started shooting. I flung myself onto the side of the Vertibird, and tried to scramble up. It was too high. The metal side too slippery. And I was just too weak.

I slumped to the deck, pipe pistol clattering down beside me.

“Shit, don’t give up on me now, Darling!” Valentine shouted.

“Sorry,” I croaked. “I’m sorry Valentine. I’m sorry I got you involved in all of this.”

“Don’t start talking like that,” he said. Despite his solid aim and the strength of that rifle, Brotherhood were pushing towards us.

“Damn it!” Valentine shouted and dropped the rifle. He turned and hauled me up by the armpits, rolling me into the Vertibird cockpit. The Brotherhood seized the chance and poured fire down on us. Valentine flattened himself on top of me, determined to shield me from the incoming fire.

He couldn’t take much more of this, and I was barely holding on. It looked like we may not get out of this after all. Well, if that was how it was gonna be, I was determined to go down shooting.

“The minigun,” I said, rolling so I was facing him. His face was twisted in pain as he took laser shots and bullets for me. “Prop me against the minigun.”

“They’ll kill you,” Valentine said.

“We ain't doing much better here," I argued. "And plus, do you really want me trying to fly this thing? In my condition?” I didn’t say my other reason. With me at the minigun, I’d be there target. And then even if I kicked it, Maybe Valentine could still make it away.

“Darling…” He said

“Don’t ‘Darling’ me,” I said. “We don’t have time.” Brotherhood would be on us any second. Gunfire had slowed. Either I had slipped so far out of it I couldn’t distinguish it anymore, or their guys were close enough that they didn’t want to hit them.

“Fine,” Valentine said. He reached down, buttoning my coat all the way. It looked ridiculous; that’s not how coats are supposed to be buttoned, but it covered more of me with the ballistic weave. “Keep your head down.”

We a heave, he dragged me around and slumped me against the minigun. I didn’t really have to do anything, just lean on the trigger. I’d been right, Brotherhood was on us. They fired shots, and I felt the heat of the laser blasts as they beamed past me, buring stripes along my exposed cheeks. I ducked my head, hoping it was enough while I waited for the minigun to finish spinning up.

After what seemed like an eternity, the gun finally started spitting. I didn’t really have to aim it, just keep pressure on the trigger and wobble. Some of the bullets caught the closer Brotherhood, more my sheer chance than aiming on my part. I can’t really tell you the details of what went down or how long it all lasted. It felt like ages, though. I guess Valentine eventually figured out how to get the ‘Bird into the air, because I felt a lurching and suddenly we were half flying, half falling towards the mainland.

It wasn’t a long trip, and it was more of a semi-controlled crash than anything. I kept my weight on the minigun, even though I was far enough gone that I couldn’t tell if we were being followed or not.

“Darling,” Valentine shouted above the Vertibird’s roaring blades. “I don’t know how to land this thing!”

I tried to make a noise of acknowledgement or worry or something, but I couldn’t. Instead, the cold floor of the Vertibird cabin hit my cheek as I fell off the gun. I dragged myself to the edge and looked down, we were about 30 feet up, the Boston shore whizzing by below us.

I summoned the last threads of my strength and managed to shout, “Take her down! We’ll have to jump!”

I heard Valentine swear. I watched as we lowered, cruising over the waterfront.

Twenty-five feet…

Twenty…

When we we fifteen feet, I shouted for Valentine. He abandoned the controls, and the Vertibird immediately started spinning out of control.

“Come on!” I shouted, dragging myself towards the open edge of the cabin. Warm, strong arms wrapped around me. I turned so I could hold onto him. Just as we were about to fall, he looked down at me.

“Darling--” he said, shouting over the noise.

“Not exactly a great moment!” I said. The Vertibird dipped suddenly and we were almost tossed into the air. 

“That’s why I have to tell you now!”

“Later!” I said. Every second we stayed here it was more likely we’d burn in a fiery wreck. Not exactly high on my list of ideal ways to die. I clutched Valentine, hoping I was strong enough to keep hold of him, and let gravity pull us out of the Vertibird.

Just in case you weren’t aware, wet sand isn’t a great landing surface. I mean, I know there are far worse--like the broken concrete and asphalt we missed by maybe a dozen yards. Still. I can’t recommend dropping fifteen feet from a moving vehicle onto wet sand.

It’s a bit of a blur from there. I think I was mostly dead by then, and Valentine was about half dead. From what details have been filled in for me, it was Deacon who found us. Turns out he’d been looking for Valentine and had chased the Vertibird we crashed in hoping for more intel. It was a good thing he had too, because without him, we’d have been easy pickings for Brotherhood snipers.

When I did decide to rejoin the word of the living, I found myself tucked into a bed. The room was dim but not dark, and over at a desk in the corner sat Valentine. He was smoking and staring at nothing.

I tried to sit up, but I didn’t have the strength. My left arm also violently protested the movement. I glanced down. An IV was set into my elbow. I made to fiddle with it, but Valentine was already by my side.

“Don’t play with your goddamn IV,” he chided. “It took Hancock forever to get that vein with all the blood you lost.”

“My veins foiled even the mighty Hancock?”

“Not for long,” came a new voice as Hancock entered the little room. Must heard me waking up. “I am basically a professional chem lord, and no cardiovascular system can hide from me for long.”

He shot me a toothy grin, which I automatically returned. Jesus, I'd missed his ugly mug. 

With his and Valentine’s help, I managed to sit up. Not sure it was worth it though as the room immediately greyed out and started spinning.

“Open up,” Hancock said, and pressed something into my mouth. I was about to protest when he shot the hit of Jet and I inhaled, coughing.

Fuck. Whoever invented coughing should be shot. It wracked every part of me, and I became distinctly aware of two cracked ribs and a pain in my shoulder that could only be from someone hastily popping it back into socket after dislocation.

“--tripping on Jet really a good idea?” I heard Valentine say once I had finished bombarding the pain centers of my brain so hard I couldn't hear or see.

“It’ll bring up her blood pressure,” Hancock said shortly. “Look I know you don’t like chems, O Saintly Detective, but I know what I’m doing, and what I’m doing is stabilizing your goddamn partner.”

Valentine still looked skeptical but he didn’t push the issue. As for me, the Jet made me feel almost normal. Except for the stabbing pain in my sides. And chest. And shoulder...You get the idea. I was beat up.

Hancock turned to me, then, all grumpiness forgotten.

“I can’t believe you hijacked a Vertibird without me,” he said, unable to contain his glee. “Why don’t you take me on any of the fun missions?”

I started to laugh, then stopped. Laughing was almost as bad as coughing. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll try to check my schedule with you before my next suicide mission.”

He got to his feet laughing. “I’ll hold you to that. Now send Nicky for me if the pain gets too bad or the dizziness comes back.”

“Will do.”

When he was gone, Valentine and I sat in the quiet for awhile. The Jet made me feel less dead but I was still completely knackered. I was drifting off again when a thought occurred to me.

“Hey Valentine,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“You needed to tell me something?” As I said it, I felt a lump rise in my throat. That was one downside about the Jet--it made anxiety feel like rail spikes were driving into you. I’d cut off whatever Valentine was going to say to be on the Vertibird only in part because we needed to drop out right that second. There was a part of me that also cut him off 'cause if he was saying what I thought he might be saying, I didn’t want him to say it just because we were about to die and he wouldn’t have to see the aftermath.

“Oh. Right,” he said stiffly. “It’s not important now.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He looked at me and for a second our eyes met. The words neither of us would say hung in the air between us, clear as daylight. Then I glanced down and it was gone. The usual torrent of doubt flooded me and I responded how I usually did when I didn’t like how I was feeling. I tugged it down and put it in a box. And then put the box inside another box and hide it under more, identical boxes.

“Sure,” I said. I was pretty sure my voice was even. Or as even as it was gonna get shot up with Hancock’s chem cocktail. “Well, I’m pretty pooped so I’m gonna nap.”

Valentine relaxed, eagerly embracing the return to the status quo. “Good idea,” he said. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

If that was close enough to _I love you_  as I was gonna get, I guess I could live with it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be like 1.5k and then there was suddenly a pLOT. Someday I may get to writing Darling's endgame, and if so, this'll be assimilated into it.


End file.
